A River of Leaves
by Rana Ninque
Summary: This story explores the lives and deaths of Theodwyn and Finduilas. It tells about their brothers, lovers, homes, hopes, and hopelessness in seven vignettes from when they are each 13, 26, 38, and beyond.


Warning: This is not a Faramir/Eowyn story like the category implies. There are not categories for Theodwyn and Finduilas, so I had to put it under the secondary characters.

This story is entirely based off of the books, and there is nothing AU about it. It may seem strange, but both women really did get married and die at the same age. I thought I should clarify that.

**A River of Leaves**

_Finduilas_

Thirteen years and two months ago, she had been but a small child held up to the sun for the first time. Now, Princess Finduilas of Dol Amroth sat by the sea with her brother, wondering at her past. Thirteen years. Thirteen years and she felt as though her entire life has passed before her already. All she wanted she had here, and needed nothing else. She was content.

She had a mother, though she was very ill and would not last much longer; they had had many happy times together, and even her passing could not make Finduilas weep. For her mother was a strong woman, and she had lived a full life. Finduilas knew that everyone's time came, and this would be her mother's.

Her father was a good man, and he had done nothing to cause his daughter to be ashamed of him. She loved him dearly. He treated all of his children like they were the only things that mattered to him in the world. He shielded them from the bitterness of reality, and instead filled their minds with thoughts of hope and love. In her father's presence, Finduilas felt as though the world was in perfect balance, and nothing would ever change that, not even the Dark Lord who was supposedly rising again to power. No, even he did not have the strength to dissipate this girl's hope. She knew something about what was stirring in Mordor, but she felt well guarded, and had never given it a second thought.

She had a sister, Ivriniel, who was surely the fairest maiden in all of Gondor. She also had a much sweeter disposition than anyone else that Finduilas knew. She always seemed to want to help and give, rather than take and hurt. Her favorite thing to say was "this is truly a remarkably perfect family," a statement that Finduilas could not agree more with.

And then there was her brother. Imrahil was the strongest person that Finduilas knew. He carried himself with pride and dignity, even at such a young age, for he knew of his heritage, and knew of the Elvish blood that ran in his veins. Perhaps even that blood of Amroth himself, for whom their beloved city was named. Imrahil was Finduilas's world. She didn't love anything more than her brother. She saw everything that he did and tried to find a way that such a trait would mirror in herself, for she felt that everything that he was she wanted to be also.

She listened to the sea's call as she dug her fingers deeper in the sand. She glanced over at her brother, who was playing with a little seashell thoughtfully. _What is he thinking about?_ She wondered. He had a small smile on his face, and Finduilas was once again reminded of the great kings of old. She hoped that someday, she would marry such a man as that.

"What is on your mind, dear brother?"

He smiled down at her, and said, "I was remembering your birth. The Queen Morwen of Lossenarch and Rohan has just given birth to a baby girl. It is her fifth child, and fourth daughter. Such things always make me think of you."

Finduilas smiled back up at her brother and said, "when was she born?"

"Three days ago."

Finduilas closed her eyes and tried to imagine a three-day-old child of the Rohirrim. She had never met either Queen Morwen or King Thengel, but she imagined that even though the Queen was surely dark haired all of their children must have been fair-headed like the rest of the Rohirrim. She had never really seen an Eorlingas at all, but she knew from what her people said of them that their hair looked as though it had been spun out of pure sunlight.

But what she saw instead of a little child of Rohan was a small boy of surely no more than four summers. He had a light grin and deep grey eyes that seemed to read her very mind. He was dressed rather regally, as he sat on a bench next to an older man looking up at her smiling. "Where's Boromir, Aimee?" he asked. "Doesn't he remember that it's his birthday today?"

Finduilas gasped and jerked her eyes open, and returned to staring out at the darkening sea. The sun had set beyond it, and she knew that it was time to go in soon.

"Fin, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I just thought I saw something."

"But your eyes were closed, Fin."

She shook her head. She didn't want to explain the strange vision to her brother. She was sure that it would come true, even though she had never had such prophetic visions before. What would make it start now, she couldn't say, but she knew that to tell her brother would just make it twice as confusing as it already was. No, she would wait and see what her future held.

Thinking about it, she realized that the image was not taking place in Dol Amroth. If she didn't know herself better, Finduilas would even go so far as to say that it was in Minas Tirith. But surely she would never go so far away from what she loved so much to live in the stone citadel…

Imrahil rose and helped his sister up. She let him, not even thinking about what she was doing. She was too caught up in thinking about this new addition to the world. She imagined people surrounding the child, delighting in her…

_Theodwyn_

Many people still told accounts of her birth as though it was yesterday rather than thirteen years ago. Theodwyn of Rohan was one of the most beloved maidens, and as she grew, she only became more endeared in their hearts. She took after her father in looks in all ways but her eyes. Those deep grey eyes were her mother's, and she knew from the day she first realized how very rare they were that her eyes were special. She had decided that she would pass her eyes on only her own daughter born out of true love. Should she be forced into a loveless marriage, Theodwyn knew that no child would bear the eyes of Morwen of Lossenarch. Even her brother and sisters did not have such eyes. No, it was only for a special purpose. Her daughter would have the eyes, and they would guide her back to her own people. For she was of Gondor and Rohan, though Theodwyn herself had been raised only in the strictest of Rohirrim heritage. Her people wanted her to forget about her Gondorian ancestors, but she would no more do that than forget about her own father. No, her line would be that of Gondor and Rohan forever.

Even her mother did not seem to endear the Gondorian past. She refused to teach Theodwyn the language of her own people, so the girl had to learn it on her own. She had done all that she could before finally managing to get her brother, who was required to speak it for diplomatic purposes, teach her the language. She found it even more melodic than the language that she spoke on an everyday basis, and whenever she could tried to use the tongue until her mother banned her from speaking it. In order to remember it, Theodwyn began keeping a journal in which she would write her entries in Gondorian. None but her brother knew of this journal, and he never told a soul. She always wondered if he would tell their mother should Theodwyn die, but she knew in her heart that it was too dear a secret to Theoden that he would never tell anyone, no matter their relation to his sister.

This made her feel special. She felt like her brother cared more about her than he did about any other, which she had later realized was true. He did everything that he could for his sister, whatever that meant. No matter what, she was his preferred sister. She was his preferred everything.

She watched from the highest point of Edoras as her two sisters walked about the city. Two years ago, Brimwyn, Theodwyn, Blanca, and Freonda had been sisters. But then Freonda had suddenly fallen from her horse, and it had left Brimwyn, Theodwyn, and Blanca alone. Of course, never as alone as Theoden was, for he was ever the only boy in the family.

Now the two walked together, and Theodwyn wondered where her brother was. Surely off in the practice ring. The thought of weaponry made her shudder. All thoughts of the East darkened her mood to a point that she even began wondering why they were trying.

Theodwyn looked out from the tower, and saw a small cloud of dust arising from far away.

From Gondor.

Her heart leapt at the thought, for she was ever hopeful that the day may come when she would return to the country where she knew she belonged. As dear as Rohan was to her heart, it would never be Gondor. To never have even seen the country made such thoughts even harder to bear. She often wondered how she knew that she belonged there if she had never even overstepped the border, but she knew. Her eyes guided her there.

When the cloud finally reached Edoras, the royal family was sitting down to eat dinner. Brimwyn, the eldest, was serving her family's wine when a young man of Rohan came in. Theodwyn's heart sank as she realized that she would not see any more of the dark-haired race yet.

"Sire," the man said to her brother. "My name is Eomund. I have returned from my mission in Gondor with joyous news. The Lord Denethor the Second, son of the Steward of Gondor, has chosen a wife."

_Finduilas_

She was twenty-six when Denethor son of Ecthelion proposed marriage to her. They had met in Dol Amroth two years before, and then again in Minas Tirith six months later before he started coming to see her on a regular basis in Dol Amroth. The distance between them exaggerated his attentions to the point that they seemed unreasonable. He would journey a week in order to spend three days with her every month. He spent so much time on the road with traveling back in forth, in fact, that he rarely had an opportunity to shave.

But when she realized that he was courting her, Finduilas began to doubt the relationship. She became unsure as to what she wanted from Denethor. She was finding herself falling in love with him, but she tried to refuse to let herself. For she had sworn that she would never leave Dol Amroth; she would never leave her brother.

But it wasn't enough. She was entirely in love with him when he finally asked her to marry him. They were walking on the shore at sunset, each thinking their own thoughts, when he suddenly burst out with overflowing emotion in his voice. He told her of his love for her, he told her of what an amazing person he found her, and then he ended it with an offer of marriage.

Finduilas had found herself overwhelmed. She was just a princess from a costal city, and she knew nothing of love and the way such things were supposed to work. She had no idea how to react to such a speech, for Denethor had a way with words beyond anything she had ever experienced before.

She remembered hoping that someday she would marry someone like her brother. Denethor was not like her brother, but yet no one was. And had many ways in which was much like Imrahil. They were both proud, and they both were stern yet gentle. And they both loved her.

Denethor was a lover of words and music, and his spirit was easily moved. She loved that about him. He wanted to hope for the future. He wanted to look at the good things in life. He wanted to love.

It was such an easy thing to accept, but she could not, for she could not leave her home so easily. Finduilas was not particularly strong-spirited, but nor was she one to do against what she believed in. She had been raised to do what she felt in her heart was right, for it was the best course for herself. Her heart would always know what was best for her, even if it didn't suit others. That was what she should listen to, whenever possible.

So she did, and she turned Denethor down. She did it as gently as possible, but still firmly. She couldn't let him think that she might reconsider her decision, for she had no desire to do so.

But still Denethor remained in Dol Amroth, following her with his eyes, but no longer sharing the long walks that both had come to so appreciate with her. And Finduilas realized how lonely she became without him. She realized how happy she just might be to be with him forever.

It was that sort of love. It was the quiet kind, that sneaks up on you when you don't realize it, and suddenly something happens to force you to realize it. And Finduilas realized then how much she would miss Denethor when he finally returned to Minas Tirith, his own home, and she realized how she looked forward to his visits, and how she regretted in her heart each time he had to leave. And she realized that perhaps she had made a mistake.

So when he came upon her, entirely by accident, sitting on the beach, she did all she could to express to him that she was sorry for her mistake. She never expected him to forgive her and actually still want to marry her, she just wanted him to know that she saw the truth now.

"I speak truthfully when I say to you, I would do anything I can to retract what I said to you five days ago and have your question again to answer. I think I shall rue forever saying that I loved this place more than you, for it is impossible. How can one love something so elusive and so fragile as a place like Dol Amroth? You cannot understand such a love, for your city is cold and stone, and it has not heart. But mine has nothing solid. Come, see?" she dipped her hands in the water. "Everything here slides through my grasp. It drifts and does not return the affection that I give it. You, however, are more like the trees yonder. You breathe and live and love, but you are strong and solid and will not stray. Yet I am too akin to my ocean's heart to have seen that soon enough. I, too, ran through your grasp. But now, I want back in your hand. Yet gravity will not permit it."

And he smiled at her softly and said, "My lady is wise beyond her years to have mastered such lovely words. Tell me, Finduilas of Dol Amroth, will you marry me?"

And her heart leapt for joy and she knew that the only answer possible to give and still be true to her heart was: "yes."

And now she sat in her garden in Minas Tirith, thinking about all that had passed since then. They had been married but two days ago, and it had been nothing but bliss. Denethor was as loving and attentive as he ever had been, and her joy in her marriage was surely unrivaled in all of history.

Her mind turned to the one thing that had stayed the same in her life. Her longing to meet the child of Rohan. Ever since the princess, she later learned that her name was something like Teowym, of Rohan was born, Finduilas had felt an eternal link form between them. She hoped that some day she would learn who this person was and what her significance to the princess of Dol Amroth's life was to be. She still imagined a little baby girl, cheeks pink with giggling, even though she knew that she would be a whole thirteen years old now. The same age Finduilas was when the girl was born.

She laughed out loud as she saw Denethor slipping out of the house to see her in the gardens, looking as though he had just run away and was trying to find shelter. All thoughts of the other child disappeared rapidly and she focused her attention on her husband. She would be so happy with this man.

Yet, over the last week, when she was in Minas Tirith, the truth had begun to sink in. Everything looked wonderful, and it seemed wonderful, but it wasn't. Right at their doorstep rested the enemy. Her father had done a good job of protecting her and her brother and sister from the truth, but it was far from helping her now. She found that as each hour passed, part of her mind whispered that it was merely an hour sooner before Sauron arose in full strength. And certainly did not want to be alive for that.

_Theodwyn_

Ten years passed before she saw Eomund of Rohan again. She was surprised when he suddenly returned from another mission in the wilds of Gondor, for many had thought him dead. She had never fully wanted to believe that he was dead, for he had always been very kind to her. He had treated her with respect, even though she was only a thirteen-year-old girl.

But by the time he returned she was a woman. Twenty-three years old, and the fairest of Thengel's children, Theodwyn was as her name declared. A delight to her people. All loved her, but most of all Theoden loved her. As years passed his adoration for his sister grew. They became especially close when one more of their sisters was taken from them by pneumonia. Finally all that was left was Theodwyn, Theoden, and Blanca. Blanca was the youngest of the children born in Gondor. Theodwyn and Freonda had been the only of the five siblings to be born in Rohan during their father's reign.

But she was not the only one of the two to have changed so drastically. When Eomund returned, Theodwyn was surprised not to find the lanky youth of nineteen who had always been so nice to her but instead a strong, well-muscled man of twenty-nine. He reminded her of the tapestries that she had seen depicting Eorl in his moment of triumph. She wondered if all women thought such things about men, or if it was truly just Eomund as she thought. Surely he couldn't be the only one who seemed to liken so to Eorl, but when she would look, none of the others seemed to carry himself with such pride.

If he was as stunned with her as she was with him, as he later told her he was, he did not show it. In fact, he seemed rather oblivious to her existence except when it would be impolite to be so. Of course, this was quite often, seeing that her brother was the king, but he seemed to manage it enough to make it clear to Theodwyn that she was being rejected.

But after six months of this behavior, he was sent out on another mission, this time as chief marshal. She watched him leave from the highest point of Edoras, where she so often stood, with her hands clasped and resting on her heart. She wore a white gown with a brown corset, and she wondered, as he rode into the sunrise, when he would return.

When he did return, an entire year later, he greeted her before anyone else and hardly left her side again. He told her later that he had been wounded in a skirmish with orcs, and while it wasn't very serious, it was bad enough for him to decide that he was taking too many chances being shy, and that he had better do something about his feelings for her if he wanted a chance with her.

And now they were getting married. She couldn't truly believe it. At twenty-six, she had found the man of her dreams and was going to be with him forever. She looked over at him as they performed the ritual, according to the custom of the Rohirrim, and thought about the happiness that was going to follow this moment. Of course, he wasn't exactly her man from Gondor; she would marry him anyway. She knew that she belonged with Eomund, and she had sworn that she would only marry for love lest her daughter could not become everything she was destined to be. Besides, it was her grey eyes that had first caused her to look upon Eomund in the first place. She wouldn't have given him a second thought if he had not just come from Gondor. And now, they would be together. Perhaps he would let her use the language of Gondor, as her mother had not. She had suggested it to her brother once, after both of their parents were dead and he was king, but he had told her that he did not think that it was appropriate for the Golden Hall's main tongue to be that of another country. It was a point that she could not dispute.

But now she would be with Eomund. He, too, was fond of their Gondorian neighbors, and was fascinated by their culture. He had told her that they were much more formal than the Rohirrim in a strange way. They thought the golden-haired horse lords crude, but they were too polite to say so in front of one. This angered Theodwyn and she swore that she would show at least one of them that they were not crude people. She didn't know which one would listen, but one of them would see that not only were the Rohirrim not crude, but they had their own grace. She swore that someone would see the Rohirrim as something that they could never be, but desired to have more than anything. It would be nice if it were someone important, like the Steward, so that she could have complete satisfaction.

She suddenly thought of the Stewardess, and regretted what she had been thinking. The Steward was still suffering the loss of his wife, who had died at a mere thirty-eight years. She wondered suddenly where she would be when she was thirty-eight.

But now was hardly the time for that. Whether she lived or died before then, Theodwyn of Rohan had had a few happy moments as a married woman now. She noticed her brother's face beaming at her from where he stood marrying them. She smiled back at him before turning her attention back to Eomund. She again smiled shyly at her now-husband and wondered what he was thinking about. Was he the least bit nervous about the life that lay ahead of them? One of those moments had just passed that some people rushed into without even thinking about, but that would affect their lives forever. She was now a married woman.

_Finduilas_

She looked out her window. To her increasing horror, she had found that there was nothing to be done about the fact that it faced east. She would get lost staring at the dark clouds that seemed to eternally rest over Mordor. It was enough to draw a shudder from her. She rarely walked in the gardens now, for she felt to naked to the Eye that ever seemed to watch her. She would look out her window and watch it instead. She wanted to know what moves Sauron was plotting; she wanted to protect her family from him. But it was all in vain, for there was nothing for her to do except watch. So watch she did.

When Finduilas had realized just how awful their situation was, she regretted instantly moving even closer to the Shadow. And then she realized that she had lost the only thing that had ever protected her. Her family and her home. At first she told herself that she had a new family and home here, but it was never the same. For all the love that she had for Denethor, it was never enough to make her stop wishing for her brother. She realized that she had given up what she always loved: chasing the waves even though she could not catch them. She gave it up for something solid, something that could support her. She hadn't realized that the unsubstantial could support her too as long as she didn't know how nonexistent it was.

Then Boromir was born. It changed her life to see a new hope in the house, and she became happy again. Five years passed by quickly and she suddenly found herself with child again. She knew that Denethor wanted a daughter, and she secretly did as well, but when her second son was in her arms, she knew that it didn't matter. She also knew that Faramir of Gondor, as Denethor named him, would be special beyond what even Denethor, who was a reader of minds, could even tell. She could see something of her son's future, and knew his part.

She sighed and looked over at the Anduin. It was filled with the leaves that fell in autumn, and that flowed through to the sea. _Just like we all will, someday, _she thought. She wondered again when it would be, her passing moment when she would return to what she loved best, the sea. But she knew that it was coming. She could feel it.

Finduilas wondered if it was wrong to love her past more than her future. But it wasn't that she loved Dol Amroth and did not love Boromir and Faramir, rather she loved the naïveté that she had always possessed until Denethor had guided her into reality. She had thought, twenty-five years ago, that when she was born she had been first brought into the light. But now she saw that it was not until twenty-six years later when she had been brought into the light—or was it dark? Was understanding darkness and blindness light? Perhaps she was blinded by the light that her father and mother had always shone into her life. She had grown up with a sunny childhood. But now the light had dimmed and she couldn't see still, but she was unhappy about not being able to see. Surely the first way was better!

She felt another leaf fall from her life tree and her breathing became more labored it wouldn't be long now…

"Aimee?"

"Yes, Faramir," she said without turning.

"What is the matter? You do not seem yourself today." _Like so many days now,_ were the unspoken words between them. The words that he had said and she had heard, without having to actually use the muscles that had been constructed for such uses. She knew what Faramir was thinking as well as he knew what she was thinking. He was her blood and bone. He was her mind and soul. She knew what he was thinking.

"I am not myself, aiwe. Do not fret yourself about it though. It will not last lo…"

And that was it. Death was on her doorstep now. She shook her head, wanting her son to leave her, lest he witness her death, but she knew in her heart that he would not. Not even to call the healers. Faramir saw that she was dying, and even should something be done to prevent whatever was taking his mother now, it would not last long. She would die again later that day, that night, or the next day. He could not fight Mandos, who was a mighty Valar when he was but a human child.

Finduilas knew that he felt this way, and she knew that he was going to be strong through her death. She didn't know how he would handle it, how Boromir would handle it, or how Denethor would handle it…

But she knew that they would make it through.

She thought of her brother and the sea. She thought of the way he would play with sea shells or rocks as he was deep in thought, like he did that day when he told her about Theodwyn…

She didn't know how she remembered the girl's name suddenly, all that mattered was that she did. She wanted her son to find Theodwyn, she wanted him to find everything that he could about her, so that Finduilas could know what thread tied them together that she had always sought but never found. But she could not tell him now. It was too late.

All of her losses overwhelmed her, and she died in grief. Her funeral would be held a week later, she knew, and it would be filled with the stuffy formality that such an event would require. No, it was not what she wanted, but what mattered was that she no longer had to suffer all the losses. Her husband, who grew more and more distant over the past four years that he had been steward, her sons, who would grow up and be in battles and probably die, and her brother and home, whom she had already deserted for something that she thought would be strong and loyal but ended up being as elusive as the sea.

Love was elusive.

And she died with one word on her lips. The one word that never escaped, but ever wanted to.

Rohan…

_Theodwyn_

He was gone. Her dear, sweet husband was gone. And now she was left with two children to care for and nothing else. She stared at her daughter through the window as she ran around attacking her brother. She was too wild. That would be remedied though. For now, she let her children do as they pleased, hoping that they could find some joy and release in that.

Thirty-eight years had passed, almost thirty-nine, and she felt as though she had nothing more to live for. Her whole life seemed to have fast-forwarded, and now she was now lying on her deathbed. There was still one dream unfulfilled, but she had forgotten about that dream until now. Until now, she had deserted all of her own dreams and focused on those of them. Whatever she and Eomund wanted, it was because it was _their_ hopes, not hers or his. They both sacrificed anything that was not mutual. And for some reason her dream of going to Gondor one day was lost among that.

But now he was gone, and she had no desire to do anything. Why bother seeing Gondor? The prospect seemed bland and one-dimensional. And there came a time for everything to end. Her dreams had ended with Eomund's death. Everything had ended, and there was no point reviving them. They would no longer raise up from the dead than her beloved husband would. Never.

But she still had her children. They both remained unnamed officially, but Theodwyn had already chosen her names for them. Children in Rohan were supposed to be named, either by themselves, the people, or their family—depending on the tradition of the house—on their eighteenth birthday, and Theodwyn was disappointed to find that Eomund's tradition was for the parents to name their children. She felt that it was awful for one to be saddled with a name that one did not like. Besides, who knew a child better than the child him or herself? But Eomund always pointed out that if the child turned out to be greedy, he would not name himself such, but a parent or the public might do so. In this way, children of Rohan would be shamed forever by mistakes made in their childhood, and thus the mistakes came much less frequently. She still disagreed, but it was the way it went, she supposed. She herself had been named according to the Gondorian tradition: One week after her birth. So had all of her siblings.

Eomer. Horse Marshal. She could see in her son a great future of leadership, and knew that he would one day be a Marshal of the Riddermark. He would lead their people wisely and well, and for the rest of his life. Certainly a fitting name, to her standards.

Eowyn. It was a joining of Eomund and Theodwyn, which was just what she was. Eowyn was truly a daughter of Theodwyn and her true love. She took greater delight in the horses than any other girl that Theodwyn had ever met, and she was free in spirit like such horses. It was a beautiful name too. Flowing like a river over rocks, carrying the leaves of autumn out to the sea.

Theodwyn closed her eyes. Her brother would never forgive her for giving up so. He would want her to live forever, and this would burden him more than she wanted it to. She knew that he would be shaken and would never be the same after this, but she knew that giving up was the only thing left to do. She had not eaten or slept three days, and for the past three weeks her eating and sleeping habits had been very irregular. She knew that all she had to do was wait peacefully for her husband to come and fetch her one last time.

She only wondered what would happen to Eomer and Eowyn. She had to be sure to leave a note in her brother's keeping telling him their names. She couldn't see them by anything else now. She fetched a piece of paper and quill and wrote the note.

_Dearest Brother Theoden,_

_ Know that I did not wish to leave you, and that you are the dearest thing to my heart in the world. I could not remain though. I gave up to much for Eomund to have anything of consequence left when he is gone. I had nothing left to stay in this world for except you and the children._

_ When each are eighteen, the names that shall be chosen shall be Eomer and Eowyn, respectively. I beg you to ensure that this takes place, wherever they are._

_ I also ask that you ensure that they are in a good home with loving parents who will care for them. I do not want them to grow up shadowed with doubt and hopelessness, either. I hope that such a house remains where they can be respected for who they are, for they are truly special children, if not entirely in line with what others expect from them. Remember, though, the royal blood that runs in their veins. I will not have my children treated like slum children._

_ I'm sorry to leave you like this, and I know how difficult it will be for you, but let these words be of comfort to you. I love you, dear brother. I love you._

_ Love,_

_ Theodwyn_

She reread over her note, and then slipped it into an envelope and scrawled her brother's name on the front. She then put it on the top of her dresser, and went to lay down. She had no idea how long to wait, but she knew that it wouldn't be long until the sickness kicked in.

When Eowyn and Eomer finally came back inside for dinner, and they found their mother, Theodwyn was already so weak that she could hardly understand what was happening. Her drowning sorrow made everything move quicker, so in a few hours after deciding to let go, she was already beyond the point of forming cohesive sentences.

Eowyn burst into tears at seeing her mother, even though she had been behaving oddly like this ever since her father had died. She cried to her brother that "mother's dying, go get someone," and Eomer fled the room following his sister's command. He knew by now that even though he was older by four years, Eowyn was wiser than he. Only eleven years old, he ran quickly, but then there was nothing that could be done.

Theodwyn slipped away in the middle of the night, and the healer who had been summoned, Lady Halian, swore that she heard the lady whisper as she slipped away, "Gondor…"

_Lily Pads_

"She reminds me of my mother," he said suddenly, and she glanced up at him surprised. She had been in the middle of describing her mother, at his request, when he suddenly interrupted her with his reference to his own mother.

"What do you mean, Milord?"

He looked up at the Eastern wall, as he spoke and said, "She died like your mother, yet so unlike her. She, too, died of sorrow and grief, yet she had nothing to grieve. It took me years to finally understand why she left us. I believe that she felt that she had lost everything. She left her home behind for hope, but I don't think that she found it, and I think that she was disappointed with what she did find. I guess she gave up her dreams for my father, and when she felt that she had lost him to the Shadow, she died." A silence stretched between them before he quietly added, "I was there when she died."

She looked up at him and said, "I, too, was present at my mother's death. My brother was there too, but he had fallen asleep as we watched her dying. There was nothing left for us to do, so we just watched. She was too weak to speak, too weak to do anything. So we just watched. It was misery. I was only seven."

"Only two summers older than I," he whispered.

"Only two summers older than you," she agreed.

They sat in silent respect for both women for a short moment before she finally said, "Finduilas is a fair name. What does it mean?"

"Hair like a river of leaves. She was named when she was ten, I believe my grandfather wanted to follow some tradition of the Rohirrim—I don't know why or if that's true—My uncle always said that when his sister was playing in the orchard in autumn, she would come back out with her hair like a river of leaves. That's why she was named like that."

She looked at him, confused. She had never seen leaves in a river, as he was describing, for Rohan had few trees, and she had only rarely even seen a river, not to mention one like he was describing.

He caught on to her confusion, and smiled. "Like that pond there, except flowing. You see the lily pads there? Those are leaves too. Imagine the water flowing and long, with those leaves floating in it. There you will see my mother's hair. Except, hers was black, rather than clear blue."

She smiled at his description, and imagined a woman with long black hair and lily pads in her hair.

"Do you miss her, or can you even remember her?"

"I remember enough about her to know her, should I ever see her again. But no, I barely remember her at all. I just remember her dying that day."

_A shame, that that it is the only thing that a man can remember about his mother: her death. I'm sure that his mother is regretting this choice now, for I'm sure that she wanted him to have pleasant memories of her before her death,_ she thought to herself, but she did not voice these thoughts aloud. Rather, she chose a lighter path of topics, for she was tired of being sad, and somehow his presence made her happy.

"Did you ever see her again?" She asked, teasing.

He smiled at her, but his eyes were serious. "Only once, in a fair shieldmaiden of Rohan with the fair grey eyes like those of my people. Only once, in the White Lady of Rohan."

Surprised by this, she stared at him for a moment, before laying her head down on his shoulder. He put an arm around her, and they sat in the gardens of the Houses of Healing until the sun had set in the west.

And the wishes of Theodwyn and Finduilas were fulfilled by the pond of lily pads.


End file.
